


It's the small mercies

by mooncalf809



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Animal Abuse, Crowley is still a supernatural being, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), but nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooncalf809/pseuds/mooncalf809
Summary: “Oh hush, you.“ He chastises the serpent, who is definitely giving him looks while he sticks peach coloured band-aids all over it. He isn't imagining it. He isn't!Or: while on holidays in South Downs, Aziraphale rescues a snake from a pack of bloodthirsty children. Anathema isn't fooled by the reptilian disguise, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Have some more snake Crowley. This is going to be about three chapters long.

Spring storm clouds gather over the South Downs and Aziraphale Fell is getting a wiggle on to be back at his cottage before it starts raining. It has been a sunny day so far and he hasn't thought to bring an umbrella along.

He so detests getting soaked in impromptu downpours.

As he hurries along the abandoned path through the village, a hubbub of jeers and shouting draws his attention.

It is caused by a group of children lingering in the small wayside meadow. Aziraphale is no fool to mistake the wild racket they are causing for cordial play among peers, but recognizes it for what it is. The smell of prepubescent bloodlust is in the air. 

He makes no plans to interfere at first. He is not here to take over their parents' job and teach these creatures civility. However, these children aren't picking on each other as it would at first appear. They are rather hurling stones and wielding sticks against something smaller writhing in the grass.

It's a black snake, showing a red underbelly every time it tosses its body any which way to lessen the blows. It hisses wildly, coiling in terror and trying to make itself smaller and harder to hit. Escape is impossible through the tight ring the children form around it. The young beasts whoop and egg each other on.

Children brawling against one another is one thing in Aziraphale's opinion (he wonders if some people would object), but collectively tormenting a smaller creature is something he can't stand for.

His presence goes unnoticed right up until he is already looming over the group.

“You lot of hooligans!“ he bellows in rightful outrage.

The children startle somewhat terribly. They all know of Mr. Fell, as he comes on holidays to South Downs every spring and sometimes summer. A real pushover, they all agreed the first time they saw him. Nothing to be afraid of with this city pansy.

They retract their assessment now that Aziraphale is really up close and personal, standing tall, his face and eyes a stone mask of cold fury.

They scatter quicker than cockroaches exposed to daylight.

Aziraphale draws deep lungfuls of air to calm himself and smooths down his coat lapels. Oh dear, it's rare for him to lose composure like that.

He turns his attention to the snake, expecting it to slither on its merry way any moment now. He feels it's his duty to see it safely off. But the creature just lays flattened to the ground, unmoving.

Oh no, it's probably hurt.

Aziraphale is sympathetic enough to actually kneel onto the grass (which you would never see him do in normal circumstances, because grass stains on clothes are a nightmare), being brave enough to remain so even when the serpent releases a warning hiss and cracks its mouth wide open to show a few fine, tiny teeth.

He has no idea if the black reptile is a member of a poisonous species, but it seems frozen in fear and reluctant to actually attack, so he persists in his efforts.

“It's alright dear,“ he soothes as he leans further in, “I won't do you harm.“

The snake resigns to its fate and remains still. Its eyes, however, stare directly into Aziraphale's face. It's mildly unsettling. Can all snakes do that? Eyesight isn't exactly the primary sense they rely on.

Slow and steady, he reaches for it with his hands. The reptile's body goes rigid upon first contact, but Aziraphale merely strokes the scaled skin of its neck. Dry but pliable. Soft.

But the length of the body isn't entirely unscathed. There are a few patches of abraded scales, drops of blood pearling on the surface. What's worse is when the snake moves to stop Aziraphale from poking at the sore spots, some segments don't move as fluidly as others.

The observation makes the man's mood go right back to being thunderous. He privately swears that if those kids damaged this poor creature's spine in any way, he will personally make a visit to each of their homes and make the adults in charge realize what little monsters they are harbouring.

Despite his internal turmoil, he keeps his voice as gentle as can be. “Oh, they hurt you. No need to be afraid any longer, little one. I will…I will take care of you.“ Really now? He will take care of it? His tongue is skipping way ahead of his common sense. He isn't even sure of what temporary keeping a reptile requires.

But he can't leave this wounded, disadvantaged being to the natural elements. Especially now when the first cold drops of rain are already falling and it has no shelter.

He carefully gathers the stunned serpent into his hands, fully at peace with the possibility of getting bitten. It would be a natural fear response after all, and the animal is traumatised. Surprisingly enough, it allows him to manipulate its body against his chest and only twists the less battered coils around his wrists and fingers for support.

Secured, Aziraphale takes it back to his cottage at a safe pace. The displeasure of getting his clothes wet becomes irrelevant now. Yellow slitted eyes stare up at him the whole way. He chooses to ignore the bizarre behaviour, it's too strange to contemplate at the moment.

The cottage is pleasantly warm upon arrival. Aziraphale shifts his rescuee into one hand and rummages through the clutter of things under the stairs that lead to the bedroom. An old cardboard box is the most suitable thing he finds. A rather shabby accommodation, but it will have to do on such short notice.

He deposits the snake onto the bare bottom, quietly promising it to return quickly with items to make the housing more comfortable. The cottage isn't snake-proof, so he can't leave it free to wander (not that there was much wandering to be had in such a poor state, but still).

He divests of his wet coat, all the while hatching his next course of action. All the terrariums he has ever seen had the enclosures heated by infrared lamps. Reptiles are poikilotherms, after all. While he doesn't have such refined heating devices at hand, he definitely owns a thermophore. Filling it with hot water is no problem, but how hot is too hot?

Despite these previous indicators, it is only after he has the serpent settled on the improvised thermophore-and-soft-blankets nest that he truly realizes how out of his depths he is. How should he treat the wounds? Are band-aids on a snake too ridiculous to consider? Some places are looking a bit swollen. Should he ice them as he would on himself? No, it probably wouldn't appreciate that, being cold-blooded and all.

At least the little black creature looks mighty pleased with the bedding. It burrows into the heated folds of the blankets, leaving only the snout and the eyes completely free to follow Aziraphale's fretting. Upon being touched it still displays some wariness, but seems to be taking things in stride otherwise.

Aziraphale ultimately decides to withhold any drastic treatment in fear of killing the creature with his own good intentions. He will call a vet in the morning. Do regular vets even treat reptile patients? In the meanwhile, he still covers the worst of the abrasions, despite feeling stupid about it.

“Oh hush, you.“ He chastises his rescuee, who is definitely giving him looks while he sticks peach coloured band-aids all over it. He isn't imagining it. He isn't!

When he goes to bed, he takes the box with him upstairs and sets it onto the nightstand. He even wishes it goodnight.

“You have nothing to fear from me, little one. You are perfectly safe here. Rest now and we will get you better in no time at all, you'll see.“

The snake just stares right at him with those inscrutable eyes. Finally, it wiggles into a more comfortable position, retracting its head into the blanket as well.

Satisfied with the silent truce, Aziraphale turns off the light.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the thing about the snake.

No, it's not just the snake anymore. Aziraphale can't believe he was weak enough to name it. He told himself he wouldn't get too attached, as it is only right to release the animal back into the wild, where it belongs.

But here's the thing about Anthony. Even after feeling much better, he (or she, Aziraphale is aware that he could have possibly misgendered the reptile) seems in no rush to leave. Instead of heeding the great recall of the wild, he lazes around the cottage, sunbathing the days away.

One could claim he takes to domestic living like a duck takes to water.

The whole recovery business turns out to be an easier ordeal than expected. No thanks to the local vet, though! When Aziraphale calls in hopes of receiving medical tips from a professional, the conversation goes something like this:

“Are you the owner of this exotic pet?“ asks a lazy voice.

“Er, no. You misunderstand. This is a wild snake we are talking about. Probably a common species to the coastal counties.“

“A-haaa…“ the person on the other side loses the last shreds of interest, realizing that, sadly, this was not some posh bastard who would pay any amount to save his rare and possibly illegally acquired pet. “Just…let nature take its course, as they say. If it lives it lives, and if not…you did your best.“

“But you are suggesting I do nothing at a-!“

“Yeah, look, this is not a wildlife sanctuary.“

Aziraphale is still fuming.

Nature, however, takes its course in Anthony's favour. Suspiciously quickly, even. He loses much of his wariness overnight. It's understandable. Aziraphale, also, would lose all of his awe for someone who snore-snuffles in his sleep. 

He does his best to keep the serpent resting in the box, regularly reheats the nest and gives it the peace it needs. But Anthony gets rather perky with all the care he's receiving and tries to leave the box on several occasions. When he becomes unstoppable and starts crawling around the cottage with acceptable confidence is when Aziraphale starts leaving the front door widely and invitingly open. He still believes in the concept of wild things returning to mother nature.

Anthony shows no interest in leaving.

He perches in warm places and spectates Aziraphale's routines and patterns. He also proves to have become a bit of an attention addict. If feeling too left out, he slithers up onto the breakfast table (where Aziraphale has vowed to never allow him to be, but alas, he is weak) and casually lays himself over the morning paper the man is trying to read. It's a very cat-like behaviour. He makes soft hissy sounds until he is comfortably being cradled in at least one arm if not both, where he finally settles down and tries to steal a few sips of cocoa.

This causes the man great concern at first. As far as he knows, snakes only eat small rodents. But Anthony shows an exquisite taste for…finer things, if you will (although the mice plaguing the cottage do disappear). When no health issues arise, Aziraphale just shrugs his shoulders and lets him indulge in his strange eating habits, allowing him to steal tidbits off his own plate or cup.

He still keeps the box on his nightstand at night. Anthony sometimes sleeps there and sometimes goes on his own nocturnal business, whatever it may be. One morning Aziraphale awakens to the snake neatly folded around his head like a dark halo. After the initial startle passes, he realizes it is actually a rather comforting feeling.

Aziraphale has always been more of a solitary man. He is used to being alone, but this quiet companionship is not an intrusion. He stops his subtle attempts at reintroducing Anthony to the wild after the revelation. A selfish thing for sure, but he has always kept the most beautiful things for himself.  
__________

It is always a special day when Anathema Device arrives into town. The weather is on its best behaviour, the treacherous bumpy roads of the countryside smooth out and the squabbling village dogs settle into harmonious existence. A witch she is, they say. 

She and her fiancee Newt visit his relatives in South Downs every year, their schedule often coinciding with Aziraphale's.

As such it is safe to say that Anathema and the bookshop owner have become firm friends over the few years of their acquaintance. He was instantly charmed by her sharp personality and they bonded over their mutual love for antique reading material.

As a connoisseur of the occult, there is no one better Aziraphale can share the secrets of his new companion with. In passing conversation he tells Anathema all about Anthony and how lovely but also weird he is. The staring, the tooth for processed foods, what a needy little cuddle-monster he is. Just listen to him, babbling like the overexcited pet owners he despises so much.

Anathema listens closely, nodding along, then invites herself over for tea in a way that leaves the man under the impression he extended the invitation himself. She is very good at those sorts of things.

Whenever Aziraphale returns from a quick trip into town, Anthony is always there waiting for him in one obvious place or another. When Aziraphale lets Anathema through the threshold, he is nowhere to be found. Unused to his absence, the man calls out his name uncertainly. He doesn't show.

“Well, maybe he has some personal matters to attend to. Or he could be shy in front of strangers? I wouldn't know, never had anyone over.“

Anathema gets cosy at the table while Aziraphale brews a fresh pot of tea. They chat comfortably while nibbling on biscuits, only once interrupted by Newt calling about the house's electricity not cooperating. Anathema tells him to leave it until she returns.

Aziraphale suddenly squeals and spills his tea when he feels something latch onto his ankles. He looks down and it's Anthony, trying to crawl headfirst into his left pant leg, like a child hiding into his mother's skirts.

He has to take a few calming breaths. “Anthony! What on earth are you doing? This is no way to behave in front of guests! Well I ought to-“

“I think he's trying to get you to make me leave,“ casually remarks Anathema, fixing her glasses.

“What? Well then. He is going to have to stop being such an attention hog! Learn how to share, so to speak.“ sniffs Aziraphale, inspecting his tea-soaked lap. “If you would excuse me for a minute, I need to change.“

He unwraps the Gordian knot that is the serpent weaved around his ankles and mercilessly leaves him behind on the chair while he stalks upstairs into the bedroom.

Anathema sips her tea and the serpent ignores her. It's a normal picture of a woman and a blank, simple-minded reptile.

Only they both know it's not.

“A demon playing house with a soft bookseller?“ She peers at him over the cup's rim. “How did that come about?“

The serpent's ignoring intensifies, as does the attempt to even further dull the shine of intelligence behind the slitted eyes.

“Fine, keep your secrets. But you can't fool me by playing dumb. I still know what you are.“

The poised, self-aware way the serpent lifts its upper body from the chair changes the energy in the air. It hisses a low sound and looks the woman straight in the eye.

“Sso you're here to ruin thisss for me, witch?“

She shows her palms in a placating manner. “I didn't say that.“

“And I'm not playing house with him,“ adds the demon in an offended tone, “I'm unabashedly and shamelessly using him, as a demon sshould.“

“Hmm, unabashedly and shamelessly using him?“

“Yessss, I-“

“You cleared his cottage of rodents,“ Anathema interrupts, amused by being armed with cold, hard facts. “And you made the backyard garden thrive.“

“I did not!“

“Oh please,“ she scoffs, “as if I would believe Aziraphale could cultivate anything so ripe and verdant. He kills every and all plants in their infancy.“

It's a fact hard to argue with. The demon sinks his head back onto the pile of his coils and fumes. Anathema doesn't let him sulk for long.

“Why do you stay with him?“

“It'sss sso nice!“ Anthony finally admits, now that he is debunked as an ominous, malevolent entity. “He made me my own bed, can you believe that? He keeps it all warm and everything! I never had a bed before…And he lets me try all the food and…“ He clamps his jaw sullenly when he realizes he went on a ramble.

The witch sets down her tea with a small nod as if her work here is done. “Well, as long as you're not here with bad intentions, I don't see why I should intervene.“

The snake slumps with relief.

“Who are you talking to?“ asks Aziraphale as he comes down the stairs.

“Oh, just breaking the ice with Anthony here, you know how it is. Awkward first meetings and such. He is rather a dear, just as you said.“ She knows the double meaning will elude the man.

“Oh.“ Aziraphale glows at the praise on his companion's behalf. He was rather afraid Anthony made a bad first impression. He is oblivious to the snake glarefully glaring at Anathema.

The tea party resumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch Anathema meme-ing Crowley's ass?
> 
> Btw I use the free Grammarly to correct some of my basic writing mistakes, but the unattainable Premium mocks me with 41 other mistakes it won't reveal for free so...if anyone sees them, point them out.
> 
> I would also like to personally than everyone who commented, it means a lot, but I fail to reply to everyone (it's only like 15 of them, but I'm a weak bitch).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that my holiday spot has limited WiFi. I split the rest of the story into 2 chapters, so that you can have some now and not wait for my incompetent ass to write out the rest.

There is a comfort in wearing his snake skin. It was his first form, after all. But spending a considerate amount of time in a human vessel makes one attached to all the extra limbs. Limbs than now, even nonexistent, itch to be stretched like a phantom pain.

Shedding one skin to inhabit another is easy, however not advisable when your caretaker believes you to be only what you are momentarily posing as. Humans are delicate about these sorts of things. Most of them, anyway.

Aziraphale has some sturdier stuff hiding underneath the soft exterior. He had seen it when he thundered at those kids. But would it be enough to handle the truth?

Snakes are not widely beloved amongst humans, the incident of their spawn cornering him proof. But Aziraphale has accepted him anyway. This gives birth to a faint hope of Crowley's that if the soft man was able to love him in his most despised shift, he could be capable of accepting him in all his forms.

But it is too early now. Not just yet. He wants to bask in the security of the unconditional friendship just a little while longer.

__________

Whenever embarking on longer errands, Aziraphale makes sure to notify Anthony in great detail about where he is going and for how long. He is not sure his companion is interested, but he doesn't want him to worry.

Especially for today's lengthy absence.

With him on holidays, he has to leave someone in charge of his antique bookshop. He loathes it, someone else dwelling in his cosy space and leaving their greasy prints all over the beloved volumes, but it's a necessary evil. 

For several years now, he could safely entrust the reins into the hands of madam Tracy, his neighbour. Her brief reign always passes without incident. She has proven to be surprisingly good at navigating through Aziraphale's messy inventory and finances.

This year, however, madam Tracy was unavailable and he has been forced to hire some bloke who supposedly had previous experiences with running a store.

The young lad is utterly incompetent (to be fair, he probably never encountered such a disorganized affair as Aziraphale's desk). He calls constantly for clarifications and guidance. Like a true member of a younger generation, he tried texting first, but Aziraphale's ancient mobile phone only accepts those when it feels like it.

Yesterday the young man finally admitted to being completely lost, so Aziraphale graciously agrees to meet him halfway between South downs and London to clear things up.

He explains all this to Anthony, who seems content to sun himself on the couch and listen to him babble.

“I will be gone for a few hours at least, dear. It's the longest I've ever left you alone, but I'm sure you can take care of yourself. You are a former dweller of the wild, after all.“

He leaves a shallow bowl of water on the kitchen table for the snake and is off to his little rental car. Some people would be surprised, but he does have a driver's license. Not that he uses it much. Once or twice a year.

He takes a few minutes to reacquaint himself with all the sticks and pedals. Then he starts the car and propels it into a shaky take-off.

He is already twenty minutes into the drive when he remembers that he forgot the actual driver's license in the cottage. He stops at the side of the road and pats down all his pockets, but no, the little laminated card must still be lying on his nightstand. The exact place where he put it the night before, as to not forget it.

Bugger.

Perhaps this inconvenience wouldn't stop some people, but Aziraphale has always been a stickler for the rules. With a heavy sigh, he pulls back around.

When he parks back at the cottage, he feels rather embarrassed. Forty minutes wasted. There is no one to laugh at him except Anthony, but he still opens the front door as carefully as a teenager sneaking back home after missing his curfew.

He huffs at himself. It's not like this could inconvenience the snake. The creature will probably even be glad to have more time to himself. He has been shacked up with Aziraphale and his fussy ways for weeks now.

He glances at the couch in passing, expecting Anthony to still be in the same spot he left him in. And the spot is indeed occupied.

Not by a snake, though.

The unmistakeably human body is stretched over the sunlit couch, feet and a hand hanging over the sides. The face is hidden into the cushions and the whole scene is rather surreal.

All Aziraphale can see from this angle is red curls, a pale back and bare buttocks. 

He doesn't consider himself a prude, not at all, however being surprised by a naked (not unattractive, his treacherous brain supplies) man dozing on his couch is the sort of thing that sends his mind spinning in panicky circles.

The tartan throw on the couch's backrest is right within reach and he flips it down, preserving the lithe form's modesty. Then he backs away, all the way through the front door and into the yard.

He wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his coat and feels the reassuring shape of his ancient phone through the pocket. Maybe he doesn't have to deal with this alone.

He barely has five numbers saved inside the chunky Nokia, but the most important one for this situation is there.

“Hello?“ Anathema's voice drifts through the speaker. There is also a bubbling background noise, signalling dinner preparations.

“Anathema!“ When did his voice get so squeaky? “Thank god I could reach you!“

“Why are you whispering?“

“Listen, um…“ He glances back at the front door, as if the stranger inside will sense he is being talked about and stalk outside. When nothing happens, he drops all pretences of being cool and collected and lets his voice reflect his hysteric state. “There is someone inside my cottage!“

“What? Really?“

“Yes! Yes! I went out and in my absence, a stranger just took up residence inside and…and…he's naked! Sleeping on the couch naked, as if he was feeling completely at home. He is still there as we speak!“

A beat of silence. “Oh. That's most likely Anthony.“

Aziraphale gasps, cursing his own selfishness and not really listening to the witch. “Oh no. Anthony! I completely forgot about Anthony! He is still inside with this lunatic! It must be so terrifying for him, I need to do someth-“

“No, Aziraphale, listen to me. The man is Anthony.“

“What?“

The woman sighs. “Anthony is not exactly the common, ordinary reptile you believe him to be. I might have…not found it necessary to mention it previously?“ She sounds mildly guilty.

What can he say? Is she pulling his leg or is he supposed to believe her? He stays silent.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think it would come to such an incident. As far as I understood him, he was content on staying a snake for the foreseeable future. You could come over and let me explain?“


End file.
